


Taking the Dread Wolf

by GlassUmbrella



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Play, Cock & Ball Torture, Dom Lavellan, Dom/sub, F/M, Fade Demons, Fade Dreams, Fade Sex, Fade Tongue, Gratuitous Smut, Naked Male Clothed Female, Non-Consensual Bondage, One Shot, Other, POV Solas, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, SolAss, Solas Disapproves, Solas Spoilers, Sub Solas, The Fade, Whipping, submissive solas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 07:49:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6275827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassUmbrella/pseuds/GlassUmbrella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Solas glared at her in furious silence. Ignorant and mortal as she was, he should have been able to destroy her without the least trouble. Restored to his full potential, inextricably connected, as he should have been, to the Fade, Solas would have been able to incinerate her in seconds. Turn her form to solid stone with a simple look. Slash her open. Simply force her to stop breathing. There were so many ways he could have ended her, the question was not if he could but how he would. </p><p>He tried to speak but realized that in the gag he sounded ridiculous and quickly gave up, lest he make this even more humiliating."</p><p>Solas has a dirty, dirty mind... and things have always been easier in the Fade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking the Dread Wolf

Solas woke up slowly. At first he saw only shadows around him, heard only clunks and murmurs, felt only cold metal against his skin. Hot breath against the back of his neck. Goosebumps prickling his flesh. Something was wrong. He wasn’t in bed. He seemed to be… upright. Suspended. Solas forced his heavy eyelids open and lifted his head weakly.  
  
He appeared to be in Skyhold’s cloistered basement, hanging by his cuffed wrists from the dungeon ceiling; legs chained apart, shackled at the knee and ankle. There was a graceful figure in front of him. Lavellan? What was happening? Groggily, Solas summoned a spell in his defense. Ice. His fingertips stretched toward her, but no cold came. Nothing. Nothing?  
  
Solas tried to comprehend his sudden weakness. Ah, yes. There was the unmistakable smell of lyrium on the air. Since they had arrived in Skyhold a few weeks ago, Lavellan, a warrior, had seen fit to follow in the footsteps of Cassandra and Cullen and become a Templar, despite his advice against it.

It seemed her training had paid off, however. She had successfully deadened Solas’ magic, while he slept. Drugged him, perhaps? Dragged him here.  
  
Solas looked downward, blinking his sore eyes, and realized he had been stripped of his clothes. Lavellan brought something to his lips.

 “Take it in your mouth. There. Take it in.” Her voice had a quality of quiet command. Solas opened his eyes wide in surprise.

 Lavellan forced a ball gag between his bared teeth, narrowly avoiding a vicious bite, and tightened the leather strap around the back of his head. He grunted in protest. The large ball forced its way further into Solas’s mouth, pressing uncomfortably into his tongue and the raw corners of his lips.

 A desperate anger flared in Solas. What did she want with him? Was this supposed to be his punishment for disagreeing with her? For his disapproval? They had argued, yes. There were things they would never see eye to eye on. Still, he harboured a grudging respect for her. He could not fathom that she would sink quite so low as to make him her prisoner, unless… Did she know the truth about him? About the Mark? Had one of his people grown careless, let something slip, somehow?  
  
Perhaps this was an interrogation.

Surely he was not truly out of options though. He reached for his magic again. Rage, fire. A mere ember of his once considerable pool glowed faintly at his core as he tried in vain to summon his strength. She laughed at his scrunched-nosed, hating expression as though she found it cute.

 “What do you think, Solas—if I wasn’t a Templar, if I didn’t dry up all that precious magic of yours, do you think you’d be able to win?” she goaded.

 Solas glared at her in furious silence. Ignorant and mortal as she was, he should have been able to destroy her without the least trouble. Restored to his full potential, inextricably connected, as he should have been, to the Fade, Solas would have been able to incinerate her in seconds. Turn her form to solid stone with a simple look. Slash her open. Simply force her to stop breathing. There were so many ways he could have ended her, the question was not if he could but how he would. 

He tried to speak but realized that in the gag he sounded ridiculous and quickly gave up, lest he make this even more humiliating.

 “Hmm…? No clever retort?” Lavellan teased in a silky voice. “Cat got your tongue, Solas?” He looked away from her.

 “What did you say about the mages, again? When you were complaining to me? That I collared them, like the Qunari do? I think that was it. You do have a dirty mind, Solas. I thought you might appreciate this.” She produced a leather collar and wound it quickly around his flushed neck, crushing it over his Adam’s apple and causing him to involuntarily cough. Lavellan tightened it and left it on him. He could still breathe, but it was twice as hard as it should have been.

She had something else in her hands, Solas realized. Lavellan bent down and he scanned his eyes over her body. She wore a tight, dark ensemble. Mostly leather. He had never seen her so provocatively dressed. The top was extremely low cut, and pushed her already perky cleavage up and out in a way that made her breasts look fuller and larger than he’d ever noticed them being.

Maybe this was not an interrogation, after all. Was this a seduction, then?

“You know, Solas, if you put these things on too tightly, for too long, it’s possible to permanently castrate a man. But don’t worry, I’ll be nice.” She clamped some sort of metal vice around the base of his testicles. He tensed up in response, eyes bugging open in surprise.

 His testicles stretched out low, forced down by the restrictive metal weight. They swung heavily as he twisted his prone body against his restraints. Under his breath, Solas cursed her a thousand times.

 Lavellan turned, showing off her tight, curvy backside as she stalked to the nearby table and took out a whip. Solas eyed her warily.

“I had them clear out this block of cells for tonight, Solas. It’s just you and me. I thought you’d like that.” She circled him like a prowling cat and cracked the whip loudly, snaking it over his clenched buttocks. She whipped him lightly, though it stung with sudden, fiery pain each time. He held his cries in.

She seemed to delight in his reactions, he realized in dismay. He couldn’t help his twitches and twists as he tried to avoid each cruel strike. She watched his body, drinking in the sight of him greedily. Solas felt his breathing growing heavier, his heart beating faster in his eardrums.

Lavellan put away the whip and began to smack at his stretched, low testicles with an open palm. The sensation was strange, unlike anything he had felt. Her Templar ability of active magical suppression had an oddly numbing effect, like an aura around her. It left a humming foreignness on his skin that complemented the sharp pain of her smacking blows to his balls. To his deep embarrassment, he felt himself growing hard and long, his organ reaching up hopefully, thickening to a full erection.

“Hmm. Not that this comes as a surprise, but I think you _like_ it, Solas.”

He winced and tried not to make a sound. He would not give her the satisfaction of a response. Gagged as fully as he was, he could hardly put her in her place.

Lavellan swatted his aching, swollen sack over and over until he wondered if it were possible for him to be driven mad. It was a thought that worried him.

After a long, long time, she began jerking him in her smooth, small hands. It took both of them to cover his full length, he realized. He took some measure of pride in this, at least. A small victory. She’d have a rough time of it if she wanted him in her pretty little mouth. He pictured her gagging on him and the thought turned him on.

Lavellan quirked an eyebrow, as if reading his mind.

“You’re an annoying piece of work Solas, but you do carry a surprisingly big staff. I’ll give you that.” She continued the hand job, her hands slick with some lubricant salve she carried on her belt. Solas winced as her bare palms touched his sensitive skin, burning like cold fire. She slapped his testicles with one hand while she jerked him with the other.

Solas’ thighs twitched and quaked uncontrollably as his body betrayed his desperation, his need to—climax. It was all he could think about. He fought hard to quell the overwhelming pain and, he admitted to himself finally, _pleasure_. Sharp. Sickly sweet. Uncomfortably intense. This was more bodily pleasure than he had allowed himself to feel since he had woken from uthenera. This pleasure may have been excruciating and forced on him, but, Solas realized with fleeting indignation, he would never have felt it otherwise.  
  
He had not even masturbated in weeks. In fact, he rarely did so. If he did become aroused, it was more likely to be in the Fade. Solas sometimes truly forgot he had a body, with physical, even sexual needs. But now… Now it was the only thing he could think about.  
  
_Breath, tunnelling through his flaring nostrils. Chest, rising and falling quickly. Muscles, clenched and straining for all they were worth. The damned weight on his testes. The collar pressing in on his neck. The growing, involuntary tightness in his lower abdomen, in his throat, in his buttocks. He needed…_  
  
He threw his head back, intoxicated with the carnal stimulation, and let out a constricted cry.

“There it is,” Lavellan soothed. “ _There_ you go.”

Solas bucked his hips as a thick stream of semen spurted out of him violently, even as he fought it.

He had finished. It was over. He had lost to her.  
  
Solas tried to process his defeat as the heady cloud of post-orgasm rush seeped through his mind, threatening to drug him into a subdued stupor even as he fought to master himself again. The problem, he realized dumbly, was that she hadn’t stopped touching him. She had him in her mouth now: just the tip. She sucked gently on his big, swollen, overstimulated head. It hurt.

He gave a mighty effort to writhe himself free.  
  
Solas was wracked with orgasmic aftershocks too intense to endure in the dignified silence he so longed to achieve. Lavellan kept touching him, focusing on the sensitive lower side of the glans. He gasped and moaned. Like a beast, he spasmed and grunted, trying to widen his legs further apart, then trying to close them in turn, but he was unable to move them anywhere, and he was forced to endure the indignity of his continued arousal.  
  
Solas all but screamed before Lavellan finally showed some mercy and let his cock go.

“I really _like_ this side of you, Solas,” she said, standing up to her full height and wiping his semen from her mouth nonchalantly. She grabbed him by the leather collar and pulled his panting, gagged face closer to hers. She took his chin in her hand and bit his full lower lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make him moan a little and try to jerk his head away. “No more control. Isn’t it nice for a change?”

Lavellan pinched the sensitive tips of his ears firmly and he winced. His ivory skin was flushed pink with arousal. His sweat-slick chest heaved, nipples still erect. Dusky violet eyes flashed dangerously, even through the fresh wet tears that still visibly clung to his lashes in the dim torchlight.

“I’m afraid we’re not finished,” Lavellan said darkly. She unboxed something at the table. It was a long wooden pole with a handle on one end and a smooth, grooved, slightly curved shape to the other end. She could not seriously plan to penetrate him with that, could she? It was too large.

“See this? I think you know what happens next. Mm. I’m going to make you mine, Solas.”

Solas tried not to show signs of panic, but inwardly he balked, afraid. She was behind him. He twisted his head. He couldn’t see exactly where she was.

The cock-shaped wood stretched his demure opening apart forcefully. Lavellan wielded it with a blunt, focused determination. As it slid inside him fully, Solas clenched back and cried out, but, within the first few rough thrusts, the fight simply went out of him. He whimpered, falling limp against the chains as he was violated.  
  
Solas was spent, and now she had found the place no one had ever touched before. He hated to admit it, but he had been curious, open even, to something like this. But, on his own terms. In his own time. This was neither. With something of that size jammed inside him, locating his prostate was not so much a matter of precision as it was simply repeated brute force with a generous amount of surface area.  
  
Solas blushed hard with resentment. He hated that his pleasure could be summoned so… _easily_. His throbbing prostate wasn’t being skilfully administered to, attentively and carefully teased and massaged to a climax as he would have appreciated, even liked—it was simply being bludgeoned into submission, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Despite the conflict within him, he was powerless to do anything but relax into the waves of impending release, tears stinging the corners of his jammed-shut eyes.

He heard a soft begging, mewling sound and realized with shame that it was coming from his own mouth as he forgot himself and gave in to her desire… or was it his desire?

Solas cried out to her, though the sound was obscured by the ball gag.

 His head bounced on his limp neck, his arms slack, as a string of his drool pooled on the floor below. She fucked him long and well. He was suddenly thankful for the gag, because he realized with what was left of his now faint ability to reason that the words he was trying to say were: _Don’t stop. Please don’t stop._

“I don’t think that’s going to finish you, is it, honey? You need a woman’s touch, don’t you?”

Lavellan pulled the wood out from inside of him. After a moment of sweet reprieve, she inserted three of her gloved fingers into his raw hole. Her fingertips found the sensitive spot and pressed in repeatedly, milking him with the kind of skill he didn’t know existed. The kind of skill she had no right to possess... With her other hand she reached around his hip and massaged his rock hard erection.

Solas felt a strange vibration within him. A static surge of magic that felt oddly familiar. She was finger-fucking him with her left hand, he realized. The Anchor crackled ever so subtly inside him, teasing him, provoking him as though it was an electrical current. She rubbed his prostate harder. Faster.

Throwing away his suspicions, Solas climaxed without any effort on his part. He had nothing left to give, except an apparently endless stream of semen. Glorious release. His legs quaked and shuddered. He felt his teeth chattering. He shot his load out in spurts, over and over, for a minute or more. It made him hot and weak and he moaned, truly helpless.

He shook his head emphatically.  
  
“Neuhh-meuur—nnn-nnn— _nnnnn_!”

Finally Solas found the very last of his strength and tried again to tense his legs against her in vain, his balls swinging heavily. Still she prodded him, deep inside, driving him over the edge with the Mark.

Lavellan watched Solas’ firm ass twitching and tensing up, bouncing and swaying, clenching and rutting fruitlessly as his thick hard cock levered up and down, and she smiled. Her panties were soaked through.

The orgasm was so intense, so exhausting, that Solas passed out almost instantly.

 

* * *

 

When Solas awoke, he was in Arlathan, in blue silk sheets. A summer breeze wafted through the open window, disturbing thin gauze-like curtains and revealing a bright full moon on the distant horizon.

“Sleep well?” Lavellan asked, and winked at him. She was in bed with him.

Solas shut his eyes as Lavellan moved between the sheets and suddenly went down on him. He had to resist the urge to hold her head in his hands.

Solas supposed he had known, all along, that the entire scenario was too convenient, too contrived, and ultimately too good to be true. He was asleep, deep within the Fade. It had been long since any demon had tempted the Dread Wolf so fervently. When one had a talent for framing one’s desires as somewhat more virtuous than they were, one could usually turn a demon of the raw Fade into a spirit of some sort. Even when dealing with his more base desires, Solas could always perceive both the dark and the light, at once. This time, however, the pull of his desire was particularly intoxicating, to the point of distraction.

If anything, this had at least alerted him to the serious threat of his feelings for Lavellan. He had not been willing to admit to himself that it had gotten this bad.

Perhaps it was time he ended this, though. Even _he_ could be tempted, and this was pushing him in a dangerous direction, too far off course.

“I’m going to have to end this charade. My apologies,” he said, grabbing a handful of her hair and forcing her head away from his cock.

Suddenly he was tied down to the bed, spread-eagled for her. The desire demon hovered over him, still ostensibly Lavellan, but her eyes were suddenly pools of black.

“End it?” Lavellan scoffed, the Demon’s own voice finally leaking into hers.“You _wanted_ this, you fool. You wanted to lose control. As long as you wanted it, you let yourself believe. You even recognized what I was, did you not? And yet you let me... _enjoy_ you.”  
  
Demon Lavellan grinned and slapped Solas in the face, hard.

“You really must hate yourself, Solas, if this is what you want. I think that old guilt is starting to get the better of you. Might as well enjoy it while you can. You know you’ll find a way to ruin it, eventually. You always do.” The demon ran her hands over his torso and thighs possessively. “Face it, you’re _mine_.”

“You must know that this is not all that I want from her. Not all that I feel for her,” Solas admitted, softly, to the Demon. “I think you’ll find you’ve misjudged me. It’s not as simple as desire. It is not, entirely, self-serving.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” he said firmly. His bonds, the bed, and the room dissolved around him as he willed them away. “It is a part, yes, but the core of it, the truth of it, is—“ He found his voice suddenly hoarse. Solas sat on the Chantry steps in Haven, now fully clothed, and watched the snow fall peacefully. “Did you seriously think you had any hope of possessing _me_?” he asked the demon, curious. Again, she appeared as Lavellan, now wrapped up in a wolf’s fur pelt, and sat beside him. Her eyes were Lavellan’s again. Here, in this eternal sunset that was the beauty of the Fade, golden light illuminated her skin and hair. She was so beautiful. Perhaps, somehow, more so than he remembered.  
  
“I would never try to truly possess you, Dread Wolf. I know enough to know that no mere demon could do that. I only—wanted to get to know you better. I watched you from afar, and your desires were so very… interesting.” 

“So, then,” said Solas. “This is your idea of a harmless crush?”

“Harmless? Maybe not. Crush—oh, yes. Solas. If I could possess you I would sink into your flesh and wear you like the finest fur coat.” She smiled, snuggled under the white wolf’s fur she wore.

“How disappointing for you then, that this admirable goal will never come to fruition.” Solas regarded her coolly.

“Is this better?” She shrugged off the fur mantle. Underneath she was completely naked, arching her back for him on the snow-dusted stairs. Spreading her legs. Touching herself. Her nipples were pink and taut against the cold. Her skin shone with a dewy sheen of scented oil. “Wait. _This_ is how you want me, isn’t it?” June’s vallaslin disappeared in an instant from her face, and Solas looked for the first time on her pure, free skin. For the first time, he saw freckles that had been concealed under the dark, purpled ink of her tattoos.  
  
" _Vhenan_ ," she said to him, breathlessly.  
  
Something strong tugged in him.

“No,” he said, refusing to believe it.

 

* * *

 

They were no longer in Haven. They were in the Frostback mountains, in the middle of a night blizzard. Lavellan, now bruised and weary, lay naked in the snow. Solas stood over her as she crawled to his legs and looked up at him with haunting, sad eyes, lit from within. Her hair lifted and pulled around her in the biting gusts of wind. “Save me, Solas. I need you, my friend. My _heart_. I love you, Solas. Nothing can change that. I already know the truth, and I don’t care. I love you anyway. I’ll always love you.”

“I wish—I wish it were true. But you are a poor substitute for her. You are no one.”

“No one? Hah! But I could be _anyone_ for you,” the Demon seethed. Lavellan dissolved into a gust of snow flurries and in her place, standing tall and proud before him was Andruil, goddess of the Hunt, with a bow drawn, an arrow nocked and aimed at his heart. She gave him a cocky grin. Then, all at once, she was Mythal, with her familiar, knowing smile, reaching out and touching his cheek fondly. Mythal became Morrigan, who leaned into him playfully and kissed him on the mouth, but before the kiss was over, she had become Iron Bull.  
  
Bull’s powerful arms wrapped around Solas. The kiss was warm, skillful, and surprisingly tender. Solas ended it as quickly as he could.

“What?” Bull asked. “You know you’ve at least thought about it.”

Solas backed away, but it was the Seeker who caught him firmly by the hand.  
  
“Solas. I may not always agree with you, but I promise, I’ll protect you. I consider you… a friend. Maybe even more than a friend.”

Cassandra changed into an impossibly attractive elven woman, young and ripe to physical perfection, as though she were an amalgamation of every beautiful face and body he had ever seen.

“I could be your fantasy,” she said, cupping her perfect breasts. “Do whatever you want to me. No consequences. Only pleasure.”

“Enough. You’ve shown your hand. You don’t even know what I want,” Solas insisted.

His own mother stood before him.

“You don’t have to be alone,” she said.

“Away with you!” Solas lunged at her, ready to strike the Demon down.

In an instant though, again, she was Lavellan. Naked. Freezing. Her lips trembled as she spoke, shivering.  
  
“I’m not good enough for you, Solas. I never was. I understand. I’ll leave if you want, but only if you tell me to go. I know you don’t really want me gone though, do you? I am the last person left who could ever love you. If I leave, you’ll be alone. You’ll _stay_ alone. You’ll —”

“I know,” Solas said, sadly. “So be it. Leave me.” He paused, palms itching. “First though, I believe you have something of mine.”

Solas grabbed her by her thin arm and yanked her weak, tired body easily toward him. His magic reached into her, from his hand to hers: abrupt, forceful.

“No! Please! I’ll die! Solas, please! _Vhenan_ … No… You’ll kill me! No!” She shrieked in pain as he tore the Anchor from her. Green energy crackled around them. The Demon, guised as Lavellan, tried in vain to pull away, but he had her arm in a vice-like grip. He proceeded to remove the Anchor, separated her from it violently. Her left hand and most of her arm disintegrated into black smoke whipped away in the cold wind. The rest of her form followed shortly thereafter.  
  
Solas felt his own hand pulsing with its once lost power, a crackling light in the darkness. The power he needed, to end this nightmare at last. To fix the world. The promise of redemption filled his heart as the last glimpse of her, writhing, screaming, and naked, burnt itself into his memory.  
  
Solas closed his eyes. The harsh wind bit at his skin. His hands balled into fists.

When he opened his eyes he still saw the dark mountain pass, the trees, and the silver snow. The desire demon stood before him, finally unmasked. Inhabiting her true form, her sensual body snaked around his own, revealing her exotic lavender skin, flaring satyr-like horns, and mesmerizing reptilian eyes.

“So, _that_ was really what you desired," she said. "Hmm. What a shame.” She kissed him on the mouth sweetly and disappeared into the wind. He could still feel the warmth of her kiss on his lips, a fading blossom against the freezing night.

Solas stood naked and alone in the unforgiving storm. The potent fantasy of his returned power, the taste of glory, faded from him quickly. He was empty and weak.  
  
All around him, closing in from the murky distance, were glowing red eyes between the trees, obscured by the blowing snow and the darkness. He heard hollow howls, far off. Then, closer. Behind him. The many pairs of eyes, all aglow like Lyrium, converged into one horrifying face: the face of Death itself. The face of the Dread Wolf. A hundred red eyes, lifeless and spiderlike, watched Solas hungrily.

“Take me,” Solas said softly.

The darkness around him grew into a deeper shade, a pure black shadow, before the jaws of night opened and devoured him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy, so lately I've been playing through Inquisition again doing my second Solasmance. I guess I finally thought I had recovered enough from the emotional gut punch of the first time around. The first time I played as a rogue Lavellan and I had a really great rapport with Solas for the whole game. Buuut this time I'm RPing a Templar warrior Lavellan, and I just kept having all these dirty, dirty thoughts about Templars and mages and the Dread-wolfy angst. So, this fic happened. (As much as I enjoy a dom Solas I think I am even more of a sucker for submissive Solas. Rawr.) I think this is a one off fic for now. Hope you guys enjoyed it! I love reading comments, so please leave them if you've got em! :)


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